


Flare Up

by Joycee



Series: Sick [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Background Slash, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joycee/pseuds/Joycee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal gets shot while he and Peter are undercover, but that doesn't explain his severe abdominal pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flare Up

Peter and Neal were on their third day of investigating some suspects in an investment scam. Peter was tired of hearing Neal complain about how bored he was. He snapped, "Neal, at least we're doing this from a nice hotel room. It's better than being in the van, isn't it?"

Neal cracked, "Yeah, so it isn't as crowded and it doesn't smell quite as bad. It's just as boring, though."

Peter suggested, "Why don't you order something for dinner from the room service menu. We can't risk being seen if we leave the hotel."

Neal perused their choices and pointed out, "We've pretty much had everything that's any good already. The wine list isn't too bad, though."

Peter answered distractedly, "Order whatever you want to. I wonder what those guys are doing over there."

"Are they actually doing something for a change?" Neal sighed.

"Yeah, two new guys just showed up. Oh, wait, one of those guys is a woman," Peter observed through his binoculars.

"Is she hot?" asked Neal hopefully. Peter chuckled and swatted at him. He lost interest in their suspects and decided they could take a break to eat their dinner.

Peter went back to spying out the window until the lights went out. Neal came out of the shower with a towel around his waist and started to massage Peter's shoulders. He told him, "Don't worry, Peter. They're starting to trust us. All we have to do is get them to confide to us who their contact on the Securities Exchange Commission is."

Peter sighed and relaxed under Neal's comforting touch. He responded, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

They put on their sleep clothes and each got into a separate bed. After a few minutes, Neal said seductively, "Peter, I'm lonely over here. This is an awfully big bed."

Peter chuckled, "I suppose you want to come over here and cuddle, don't you?"

Neal leapt out of his bed, scooted into Peter's and put his arms around him affectionately. He murmured, "Ah, that's better."

Peter patted him and said, "Okay, Buddy. Let's get some sleep, though. We have an early meeting to go to in the morning.

To Peter's surprise, Neal didn't protest and soon fell asleep. Several hours later, Peter woke up because Neal was restlessly squirming around. Peter thought he was probably having a bad dream and reached over to shake him awake.

Peter was alarmed when he felt how warm Neal's skin was. Neal moaned and turned over, but Peter insisted he wake up. He asked, "Hey, are you okay, Buddy?"

Neal grimaced and shook his head, "No, I feel terrible. Head aches, stomach's upset, throat's sore. I'm sick."

Peter got up and found some Nyquil in his toilet kit and brought it to Neal with some water. Peter climbed into the other bed that Neal had vacated earlier and said, "Go back to sleep. Maybe you'll feel better tomorrow."

Neal groaned and rolled over and soon went back to sleep. A little later, he called out, "Peter, I'm shivering. It's too cold in here."

Peter found another blanket in the closet and put it over Neal. He told him gently, "I think you have chills from your fever."

Neal asked pitifully, "Get in with me and hold me and keep me warm?"

Peter relented and cuddled him close until they fell asleep again. When the alarm went off, Peter quickly silenced it. He wanted to let Neal sleep as long as he could. Peter decided, if Neal wasn't feeling any better, he'd go to the meeting by himself and make excuses for Neal.

When Peter came out of the bathroom, Neal was up and drinking coffee. Peter asked, "Feeling any better?"

Neal winced and replied, "Yeah, a little. I just took some more Advil."

They finished getting ready and went to their meeting. A woman was introduced as a member of the SEC and Peter recognized her as the one he had seen through the binoculars the night before.

Neal was able to skillfully extract the incriminating information they needed and Peter used their code phrase, "I guess we're done here" to signal Jones and Diana to rush in with their team.

As the shouts of "FBI" rang out, the woman panicked and pulled a gun out of her purse. She pointed the gun at Neal and fired, but her aim was wild and the bullet only grazed his arm.

As soon as everyone was handcuffed and the scene was being processed for evidence, Peter ran to check on Neal. He saw him heading back to their hotel and quickly caught up. Peter said firmly, "We're going to need to have that gunshot wound looked at in an emergency room."

Neal waved him off, saying, "Jones looked at it and cleaned and bandaged it for me. It's nothing but an abrasion really. It's not deep. I still don't feel well, though. I just want to go back to bed for awhile and sleep."

Peter noticed his flushed sweaty face and relented, "Looks like your fever is coming back."

Neal collapsed onto the bed and moaned, "Oh, I just ache all over. I'm really sick, Peter."

"Maybe we should get you to a doctor," Peter said reasonably. 

"No, it's just the flu. I just need to rest. Got any more Advil?" Neal responded.

Peter got the pills for him and gently smoothed Neal's hair back from his face. He carefully checked the bandage on Neal's arm for bleeding, but it seemed to be okay. Peter covered him and said fondly, "Okay, Buddy, you just sleep for awhile. You did good back there."

Neal nodded, already falling asleep. He was curled into a ball with his hands on his stomach. Peter sat down at the table to start writing his report on the case. He was surprised when Neal suddenly got out of bed and rushed to the bathroom.

Peter heard him vomiting and went in to check on him. He wet a washcloth and handed it to him. He told him, "I'm going to order us something to eat. All you had for breakfast was coffee."

Neal promptly vomited again. He wiped off his mouth and asked for a glass of water and then made his way back to the bed and collapsed.

Peter worried, "I think we had better get you to a doctor, Neal." 

"No, really, I just need to rest. Now that I got that up, I think I can sleep," Neal assured him.

Peter frowned and went back to working on his report. He agreed, "Okay, we'll wait a little longer, but if you're not any better when you wake up, I'm not listening to any more arguments."

Peter quietly called the hotel desk and told them they weren't ready to check out. Neal slept fitfully. He began to shiver again and Peter pulled the blankets over him. Peter couldn't remember ever seeing Neal this sick.

Neal slept for a couple of hours. When he woke up, he complained of stomach pain. Peter asked, "Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?"

Neal nodded, "Yeah, but maybe not right now. It just hurts a lot."

Peter walked over and felt Neal's forehead and noticed his glassy eyes. Neal felt warm and sweaty and he was breathing a little fast. Peter moved his hand down along Neal's neck and he could feel his pulse racing. Peter said, "I'm taking you to the doctor. No more fooling around."

Neal nodded, "Okay. I guess that might not be a bad idea."

Peter asked, "Does your arm hurt where you were shot?" Neal answered, "No, not really. Just my stomach. Maybe I just have really bad gas from that greasy dinner last night. I don't know."

"Okay," Peter told him, "Lie back and rest a few minutes. I'm going to pack and check us out of the room. It won't take long."

Neal didn't lie back down. He just rocked back and forth with his hands folded into his abs. Peter helped Neal out to the car and took him to the Burke's family physician, Dr. Ellis.

After his vital signs were recorded, Dr. Ellis examined Neal. She unwrapped the bandage around Neal's arm and cleaned the wound again. She said, "Your wound really looks okay. We've been seeing some flu cases lately. It looks like you have a pretty bad case."

The doctor ordered some blood tests just to be sure and prescribed some flu and nausea medicine for Neal. She added a painkiller prescription in case his gunshot wound starting hurting later and an antibiotic to keep it from getting infected.

Peter helped Neal back to the car. Neal could hardly stand up straight because his abdominal pain was so bad. Peter stopped at a pharmacy to get the prescriptions filled. When they got to Peter's house, he settled Neal in bed in the guest room.

Peter got some of the pills out for Neal to take and encouraged him to drink a glass of water. Neal swallowed them and immediately grabbed a waste basket and vomited. Peter called Dr. Ellis again and she prescribed a suppository that Neal could take for the nausea.

When Peter got back from the pharmacy, he found Neal curled up sleeping and decided to let him rest for awhile. Peter told the office he would be working from home. He was still writing his report from their case when he heard Neal moaning upstairs, so he went to check on him.

"How are you feeling, Buddy?" Peter asked. He looked with concern at his friend's distressed appearance. "Are you any better? Do you want to try this suppository for nausea?"

Neal nodded weakly. He turned on his side and said hesitantly, "Will you put it in for me?"

Peter unwrapped one of the waxy cylinders and gently inserted it into Neal's asshole. Neal cried out with pain momentarily and then relaxed. He asked plaintively, "Peter, would you hold me for a little while?"

Peter smiled and climbed into the bed next to Neal. He encircled him with his arms and nuzzled his hair. He soothed, "I'm sorry you're feeling so bad. It'll be okay. You'll feel better soon. Once the nausea goes away, I'll give you the other pills."

After a half an hour, Neal was resting more comfortably and Peter got up to get his medicine and some orange juice. He called El to let her know what was going on. 

El said apologetically, "Oh Peter, I feel sorry for Neal, but I haven't had my flu shot yet this year and I just can't afford to get sick. Would you mind if I stayed with Yvonne tonight?"

Peter chuckled, "No Hon, go ahead. I'll take care of Neal, but if I get sick, you're coming home to take care of me!"

El laughed and promised, "Of course. Tell Neal I said 'Feel better soon,' okay?"

Neal was able to tolerate the medicines and orange juice and started feeling a little better. He sat up and ate some toast that Peter brought to him.

Peter sat on the bed beside Neal because he didn't think Neal was well enough to go downstairs. He asked, "How's the arm? Does it hurt much?"

Neal replied, "Not really. It's mostly my stomach that hurts now. I can't believe that SEC lady pulled out a gun and shot me! If she'd had better aim, it would have been bad."

"Well, we were able to add attempted murder to her securities fraud charge so that should keep her in prison. You did nice work getting all that incriminating information from them even though you were feeling so sick, Neal," Peter said.

"I think I just wanted to get that boring case over with so we wouldn't have to stay in that hotel any longer," teased Neal. "Thanks for bringing me with home you, Peter. I'm sorry to be keeping Elizabeth away, but I don't blame her for not wanting to get this. I hope you don't get it either."

Peter reassured him, "I don't get sick very often and, anyway, I was already exposed after living with you for a few days."

Neal was sweaty and uncomfortable and told Peter he wanted to take a bath. He explained, "I'm not sure I could stand up long enough for a shower, but I think a hot bath might feel good."

Peter agreed, "Sure. You get undressed and I'll go run the water so it's ready for you."

Neal asked, "Can I have bubbles?" Peter laughed, "Of course you can. I'll put some in."

Neal limped gingerly into the bathtub and sank gratefully under the water. He sighed, "Oh, this was just was what I needed. Thanks, Peter."

"I'm going to go change your bedsheets while you soak. That'll feel good when you get back in bed," offered Peter. He was just finishing tucking the sheets in when he heard a sharp cry of distress from the bathroom.

Peter ran to check on Neal and found him curled up in pain on the bathroom floor. He exclaimed, "What happened? Did you fall? Why didn't you wait for me?"

Neal looked up at him in agony. He gasped, "Something's wrong. My stomach."

"Let me get you up," said Peter, gently lifting Neal to his feet and helping him back to bed. He worried, "This isn't good. Show me exactly where it hurts."

Neal put his hand lightly on his lower right abdomen. He groaned, "It hurts right here so bad. I don't think I can sit up."

Peter put his hand out to touch the area Neal was guarding and Neal pushed his hand away, saying, "No, please don't touch it!"

Peter noticed Neal's pulse was racing and his skin felt clammy. His eyes were half closed and he was taking short rapid breaths. Peter decided, "I'm calling the doctor back right now. I think you need to go to the hospital."

Neal whispered, "No, Peter. Just let me rest, okay?"

"You just lie right there. I'm going to call Dr. Ellis and let her know you're worse." Peter got the doctor's answer service and he realized it was after hours. He told the operator that it was urgent for him to talk to Dr. Ellis. Her response was, "Sir, if this is a medical emergency, you should call 911."

Peter hesitated. He left a message for the doctor to call him anyway. He decided to wait a little longer to see if he needed to call an ambulance. He didn't like how pale and distressed Neal looked. He was lying on his side curled into a ball.

Peter stroked Neal's back lightly. He was sweaty again, but he was also shivering. Peter covered him lightly with the blanket. He wondered if he could get some pajamas on Neal while he was in so much pain. He decided to see if Neal could keep another pain pill down.

Neal managed to swallow the pill. Peter's phone indicated that Dr. Ellis was calling him back. She asked why Peter thought Neal was worse and he described his debilitating abdominal pain to her. 

Dr. Ellis tried to calm him and told him, "Sometimes the flu can be pretty rough. Keep giving him the medicine I prescribed for him and make sure he drinks plenty of liquids. Use the suppositories as you need to so he doesn't vomit them up. That should control the vomiting and the fever."

"But Doctor, what about the pain in the abdomen? That seems to be his biggest problem," Peter protested.

"Well, that's probably related to his vomiting. It's okay to give him the pain medicine for that. Let me know if you see any signs of infection around his gunshot wound. Otherwise, try to keep him comfortable enough so he can sleep tonight and call me again in the morning if he's not any better," Dr. Ellis instructed.

Peter reluctantly agreed and turned back to Neal, who was rocking himself back and forth. His teeth were chattering. He looked up at Peter with pleading eyes. Peter got another blanket and soothed him, "Let the medicine work on your pain and your fever, Buddy. I'm going to get you something to drink."

Neal grabbed his wrist and said urgently, "No, Peter. Don't leave me alone. I'm scared."

Peter pried his hand loose and told him, "Just let me get you something to drink. It's important for you to stay hydrated. I'll come back right away. Don't worry. I'm going to stay right here with you."

Neal nodded weakly and Peter rushed to get some orange juice. He gently helped Neal to drink some, but a few minutes later, Neal vomited it up. Peter patiently cleaned him up and then he inserted another suppository to control the nausea. That seemed to work to sedate Neal and he fell into a light restless sleep.

Peter quietly checked the gunshot wound and rebandaged it. He didn't think that was the problem. Peter lay down beside Neal for a little while, relieved that he was resting. When Neal stirred and moaned in his sleep, Peter rubbed his arm and murmured reassurances.

When Neal seemed to be sleeping more soundly, Peter called El to update her on Neal's condition. El worried, "That doesn't sound like the flu, Peter. Are you sure there isn't something else wrong?"

"Well, I called Dr. Ellis back and she told me to keep giving him his medicine and lots of fluids and try to get him through the night."

El reminded him, "But it doesn't seem like Neal can keep anything down. Maybe he needs IV medication. It sounds to me like he should be in the hospital."

"Well, I'm sure Dr. Ellis will put him in the hospital if he's still this sick tomorrow morning. I don't suppose it will hurt to wait that long. He's sleeping right now," Peter hedged.

"Well, I'm concerned about the pain in his abdomen. You don't think he could have appendicitis, do you?" El worried.

"What? I don't think so. Dr. Ellis didn't seem to be worried about that," Peter said.

El conceded, "Well, okay, but she hasn't seen him since he got worse. Please promise me you'll call an ambulance if he continues to have such severe pain."

"I promise, Hon," Peter smiled. "Sorry to worry you. Neal will probably be better by morning."

Neal groaned and tried to sit up. He fell back putting one hand across his forehead and keeping one hand on his abs. He called painfully, "Peter?"

Peter hurried over to him and reassured, "I'm right here, Buddy. What do you need? Are you going to be sick again?"

Neal mumbled, "Yes, I'm really sick, Peter. I have to piss. Can you please help me to get up and go to the bathroom?"

Peter thought a minute and told Neal to hang on while he went and got a bucket. He helped Neal sit on the side of the bed long enough to piss in the bucket. Then Neal sank back down onto the bed.

"How's the pain?" asked Peter. "Is it any better? I don't know if you kept enough medicine down to do any good. Want to try to drink a little more juice?"

"Maybe just water," Neal agreed. "I guess it's not quite as bad. The suppository is helping the nausea. I'm sorry, Peter. I feel so helpless."

Peter patted him softly. He smiled and said, "Let's just worry about getting you through the night, okay?"

Neal smiled weakly and nodded. He drank a little water. Peter thought he looked more relaxed than he had earlier. He hesitated, thinking about what El said, and then asked tentatively, "Neal, do you think you could have appendicitis?"

Neal looked confused. "Didn't Dr. Ellis say it was just the flu?"

"Yeah, yeah," Peter conceded. "That's probably all it is. It's just that El was worried when I told her how bad your abdominal pain was."

"I think it's a little better right now," Neal mused. Peter got him to drink some more water and was relieved when Neal drifted back to sleep. Peter finally fell asleep beside him.

When Peter woke up, he realized Neal was quietly crying beside him. Peter put his arms around him and rocked him. He soothed, "Hey, hey. It's okay. What's the matter, Neal? Are you feeling worse again?"

Neal nodded and sobbed, "I feel like I'm going to die, Peter."

"Is it the pain?" asked Peter fearfully. Neal nodded and groaned as he tried to turn toward Peter. He repeated, "I'm sorry."

Peter got awake and said, "No, no. There's nothing to be sorry about. Let me turn on the light and have a look at you. Maybe it's time for you to take more medicine."

Peter was alarmed when he got a look at Neal with the lights on. He looked wild eyed and disheveled. His face was flushed and sweaty and contorted in pain. Peter's first thought was that Neal needed to be in the hospital. He tried to calm himself down.

"It's time for you take medicine again, Neal. Do you think you can keep it down?" Peter worried.

Neal didn't answer. He stared at him blankly and said hesitantly, "Peter? Where are we? I feel sick."

Peter's heart sank. He reminded him, "I know you're sick. We're at my house, remember?"

Neal said vaguely, "Oh yeah. Your house. Sick. Oh yeah. Am I going to die, Peter?"

"No, I won't let you die, Neal. I'm calling 911 right now. You need an ambulance!" Peter replied.

Neal nodded, "Ambulance. Hospital. Don't want to die."

Peter had tears in his eyes as he called 911. He said urgently, "I need an ambulance right away. I have a man here who is deathly ill. I think he might have appendicitis."

The operator took his information and told him the ambulance would be there in 5-10 minutes. That seemed like a very long time to wait. Peter sat tensely on the side of the bed holding Neal's hand.

Peter pleaded, "Hang on, Neal. They'll be here soon. We're going to get you taken care of. You're going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Neal nodded, "Okay. Peter? I love you." Peter gripped his hand tightly. He told him, "I love you, too. Don't worry. It's going to be okay. Nothing's going to happen to you. I promise."

When he heard the ambulance on his street, Peter rushed down to let the medics in. He gave them as much information as he could as they maneuvered a collapsible stretcher up the stairs. As soon as they got in the room with Neal, they took charge, taking vital signs and assessing Neal's pain.

Neal was confused and barely conscious. The medics started an IV and administered pain medication. Then they carefully transferred Neal to the stretcher and took him down to the ambulance. They told Peter to follow in his car.

All the way to the hospital, Peter kept telling himself, "It's going to be okay. Neal's going to be okay. Neal can't die. He's going to be okay."

At the hospital, Peter found Neal in the Emergency Department surrounded by medical staff and a whirlwind of activity. Peter begged for someone to tell him what was going on. Neal was bundled off for a CT scan and finally the emergency doctor had a chance to fill him in.

Dr. Li Chan told him, "I believe your friend has a ruptured appendix. The CT scan will confirm it. It's good you got him here when you did. It's a life threatening condition. How long has he been ill?"

Peter anguished, "He got sick two nights ago. We thought it was the flu. Then he suffered a superficial gunshot wound on the job yesterday and I took him to my family doctor. She examined him and treated the wound on his arm. She said he had the flu and gave me some medicine for him and I took him home."

The doctor said, "When did he get worse? He must be much sicker now than he was when she saw him."

Peter nodded, "He just kept getting worse. I called the doctor back last evening and told her he couldn't keep the medicine down. She prescribed some suppositories for the nausea and told me to try to get him through the night and let her know if he wasn't any better this morning."

Dr. Chan frowned, "When did you realize he needed emergency treatment?"

"Well, he finally slept for awhile, but when he woke up he was crying and talking about dying. He looked terrible and then he started getting delirious. So I called 911," Peter explained.

"Well, it's a good thing you did. He could easily have died without treatment. As it is, he's not out of the woods. If his appendix has already ruptured, we'll have to treat him with massive doses of intravenous antibiotics to get the peritonitis under control in addition to operating on him to remove the appendix," Dr Chan told him.

"But he'll be okay now, won't he? He has to be, Doctor. I didn't wait too long to get him here, did I?" fretted Peter.

"Well, it would have been much better if he'd gotten here before his appendix ruptured. Then he could have had a simple emergency appendectomy. Now it will be a more complicated procedure," Dr. Chan pointed out.

"Why didn't Dr. Ellis make the diagnosis of appendicitis?" Peter wondered. "My wife was the first one to suspect it. I wish I'd brought him in right then when she suggested it, but I still thought he had a bad case of flu, like Dr. Ellis said."

Dr. Chan patted his arm and reassured him, "You couldn't have known. He's here now and we'll take good care of him. I'll discuss his case with Dr. Ellis later. I'm not sure why she missed the diagnosis. Let's worry about that later."

Peter asked anxiously, "How soon can I see him? He's scared. I want him to know I'm here and I won't leave him."

"I need to get the results of the CT, but he will probably be sent up to a room after that and you can see him once they get him settled in. We gave him a heavy dose of pain medication along with the infusion of antibiotics so I'm sure he's comfortable now. He won't be worried about anything if he's even awake," smiled Dr. Chan. "Go back out in the waiting room and I'll come out and talk to you after I've seen the scan."

"Couldn't I wait here?" Peter requested. The doctor shook his head and said, "You'd just be in our way. We'll take excellent care of him."

"Of course. Thank you, Doctor," Peter said, truly relieved and grateful that Neal was finally getting the care he needed. In the waiting room, Peter called El and filled her in on what had happened.

El exclaimed, "Oh Peter, how awful! Is he going to be okay? How could Dr. Ellis have been so wrong?"

"I don't know. I believe he's going to be all right now, El, though the doctor says he'll have to stay in the hospital for a week to ten days getting IV antibiotics in addition to the operation to remove his appendix. Thank God you mentioned to me that he might have appendicitis or I still might not have called 911. He was so terribly sick, though. Oh El, he could have died!" Peter broke down.

"Hon, Neal's going to be okay. You did the best you could. You saved his life. We'll help him get through this," El assured him. "I'll come to the hospital as soon as you let me know where they're taking him."

Peter felt a little calmer after they hung up and he even dozed a little until Dr. Chan came out to find him. Peter was instantly alert and anxious for the latest update on Neal's condition.

"His appendix has ruptured and he has peritonitis as we suspected. The nurses are transferring him to his room on the Surgery Unit now. He's stable so you can probably see him soon," Dr. Chan informed him.

Peter thanked the doctor again and hurried to the Surgery Unit. A nurse asked him to answer some questions about Neal for their forms and then led Peter to his room. Neal was resting peacefully with his eyes closed. He had an IV running into his left arm and a nasogastric tube inserted through one nostril and taped to his upper lip.

Peter quietly walked over to him and laid a hand gently on his shoulder. Neal stirred and opened his blue eyes sleepily. He smiled when he saw Peter and reached up to take his hand. He said softly, "I'm okay now, Peter. Thanks for getting me here."

There were tears in Peter's eyes as he looked fondly at Neal. He said, "You gave me a scare, Buddy. I didn't realize how sick you really were until it was almost too late."

"It wasn't your fault. You just did what Dr. Ellis told you. Imagine what would have happened if you had just taken me home and dropped me off at my apartment. I was lucky to have you there with me," Neal said sincerely.

"So how are you are feeling now, Neal?" asked Peter. "Have they told you what their plan is? I understand you'll have to stay in here for awhile."

Neal grinned crookedly, "I feel kind of high right now. They shot me up with narcotics for the pain. It still hurts if I move though."

"Do you need to sleep? I can leave you alone for awhile. I need to call El anyway. She was the one who suggested to me last night that you might have appendicitis," Peter smiled.

"Oh wait, don't go yet, Peter," pleaded Neal. "I feel better with you here beside me. If I fall asleep, you can go call Elizabeth. Will you try to reach Mozzie, too? And could you call June?"

"Of course, I will. I'll let them know at work, too. A lot of people care about you, Neal," Peter reminded him.

Neal yawned and closed his eyes. Within a few minutes, Peter withdrew his hand and tucked the covers in around Neal. He stroked his soft hair and gave him a little kiss on his lips. Suddenly he felt weak in the knees as he realized how critically ill Neal had been.

Peter made his phone calls and went to get some coffee. Then he returned to Neal's room to sit at his bedside. He didn't notice when Neal woke up and looked over at him until he heard Neal say emotionally, "Peter? I love you."

Peter stood and laid a hand on Neal's shoulder again. With moist eyes and a soft look, he told Neal, "I love you, too, Buddy. So much."

Neal sighed contentedly, "I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

Peter bent over so he could lay his cheek next to Neal's. He smoothed Neal's hair off his forehead. Peter whispered, "Please get well, Neal. Please don't ever leave me."

Neal smiled happily, "Don't worry. I won't leave, because I love you."

A nurse came in to take Neal for surgery. She said, "I'm just going to give him a little preoperative sedation."

Neal looked up at Peter whimsically and slurred, "Bye, Peter. See you little while."

Peter kissed his forehead and gently hugged him. He gave him a loving look and said, "Sleep now, Buddy. Don't worry. I'll be right here waiting for you."

.......................................................................................................................

_(Story is continued in Follow Up)_

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.everydayhealth.com/appendicitis/appendix/ruptured/
> 
> The doctors in this story are entirely fictional.
> 
> The White Collar characters were created by Jeff Eastin for the series on USA TV.


End file.
